


All About You

by squirtturtle665



Series: Inspired by Book Quotes [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Insomnia, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Sickfic, ari reminds me of ada shelby in this, arthur and eames are lowkey oblivious, cobb is in the illuminati apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 09:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18178748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirtturtle665/pseuds/squirtturtle665
Summary: “We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence.”The Song of Achilles - Madeline MillerThree times Arthur falls asleep alone and one time he falls asleep with Eames.





	All About You

_“We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence.”_

 

  1. Jakarta



              It starts in Jakarta. Eames is wearing some ridiculous flowy shirt, and all of a sudden, Arthur can’t stop looking at him. He actually has to go to the bathroom to splash water on his face and slap himself a little so he can focus on work instead of Eames’ smile and his eyes and his _arms_ … Jesus Christ.

              Arthur is fucked.

              How can you undo falling in love?

              Eames would tell Arthur you can’t, but Cobb would tell Arthur you can, and since Eames is the one Arthur is trying to undo his love for, he sides with Cobb. He just has to ignore that Cobb is unreliable and unstable.

              Arthur leaves the bathroom and passes right by Eames’ desk. He doesn’t even look at Eames or acknowledge his comment about how Arthur looks “absolutely ravishing” today. It’s a small victory, but Arthur starts to think that this will be easier then he thought.

+

              Something is wrong with Arthur; Eames notices it right away. He has been avoiding Eames all day, not even throwing a glance his way. Surprisingly, this is more distracting to Eames than when Arthur does pay attention to him.

              It’s infuriating.

              Eames’ feelings for Arthur aren’t new; he’s just good at hiding them. He’s a forger for fucks sake. If he couldn’t hide his feelings, then he wouldn’t be very good at his job, would he? Still, though, the feelings are there. Eames just isn’t sure if Arthur feels the same way.

              After staring at Arthur for a good twenty minutes after he gets back from the bathroom, Eames lets out a frustrated sigh and gets up. He strolls right on over to Arthur’s desk and turns his charm up to ten.

              “Arthur, dearest,” Eames says, resting on a corner of Arthur’s desk.

              “Hmm?” Arthur responds distractedly, not bothering to look up from his laptop.

              Eames resists the urge to throw Arthur’s laptop across the room. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

              “Could I just get a moment of your undivided attention?”

              Arthur continues typing. “I’m busy, Eames.”

              “Arthur, look at me.” When he finally does, Eames sees struggle in his eyes. Eames furrows his eyebrows, all charm now replaced with genuine concern. “Are you alright?”

              As soon as Eames has Arthur’s eyes on him, they’re gone again. “Of course I’m alright.”

              He’s lying; it doesn’t take a forger to see that, but Eames stupidly decides to ignore it. He’s made sure Arthur knows he can come to him with anything, so he doesn’t want to press the issue.

              “Come get drinks with me tonight.”

              This gets Arthur’s attention. He looks back at Eames, and for a moment, he seems to be genuinely considering the offer. But then he says, “Absolutely not.” Eames’ face must really be shocked because Arthur follows up with, “What? Not used to getting rejected, Eames?”

              Eames tries to recover, trying to ignore the genuine hurt bubbling up in his chest. “Well, no, not really, but…” Arthur resumes his work, and unable to find the right words, Eames just gives up and heads back to his own desk.

+

              This is not easier than Arthur thought.

              He sits awake in his hotel room with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a pounding headache that courses through his entire body. He’ll regret the whiskey tomorrow, especially since tomorrow is job day, but that’s not what’s on his mind right now.

              The job will be easy, but Eames… Eames is an enigma Arthur just can’t seem to figure out. Eames seemed genuinely concerned about Arthur today before, you know, turning back into his old self and asking Arthur to go out for drinks.

              And Arthur had wanted to go with him. Badly. But fuck love if it thinks it can just waltz into Arthur’s life unannounced. That’s not the way Arthur works. He’s a point man for fuck's sake. If he can’t plan for any situation and stay organized, then he can’t do his job very well, can he?

              So yes, Arthur is wide awake at two in the morning with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His head is throbbing more than ever, and now he’s questioning whether he should even be a point man. This is what love does to a person, Arthur supposes; it fogs up your brain and makes you question everything about your life. It will break your heart if you let it consume you enough. Arthur promises himself that it won’t be a problem anymore.

              But when his last thoughts before finally falling asleep two hours later are about Eames, Arthur knows he’s too far gone. Love has him in handcuffs.

 

  1. Sydney



              The headache Arthur had in Jakarta has manifested into the flu in Sydney. As soon as Arthur walks into the warehouse, Eames practically shoves him back inside the cab that dropped him off.

              “Love, you look absolutely dreadful,” Eames says. “Really, truly awful.”

              Arthur feels really, truly awful. He isn’t sure he’s ever had a worse headache, and he might’ve taken too many ibuprofens, but he needs to be at work.

              Arthur tries to smile, tries to convince Eames that he’s fine, but this comes out of his mouth instead: “You’re cute, Eames. Have I ever told you that?”

              Shit.

              “Who are you and what have you done with Arthur?” Eames puts his hand to Arthur’s forehead. “Christ, you’re burning up. Come on, I’m getting you a cab back to the hotel.”

              This sobers Arthur out of his fevered daze. “Wait, what? No, Eames, I’m fine. Really.”

              Still, Arthur lets Eames usher him back outside. “You just called me ‘cute’. You are very clearly unwell.”

              Arthur says nothing, not trusting his own brain to formulate sentences that don’t spell out how much he loves Eames.

              “I’ll call you in a bit, yeah?” Eames says when a cab pulls up. “And no work, Arthur. I mean it. You need to rest.”

              Arthur just nods and gets into the cab, silently wishing Eames was going with him.

+

              Ariadne is the only thing that gets Eames through the morning. Everyone else on their team seems to be doing everything they can to piss Eames off, and it culminates with him blowing up at their extractor for playing his stupid country music too loudly.  

              “Neil, If I hear one more fucking cowboy singing about beer, I will drown you in it!” Eames yells from across the warehouse.

              Neil immediately turns his music down without a word back in Eames’ direction.

              “Eames,” Ariadne warns from the neighboring desk.

              “Ariadne,” Eames mocks back.

              Ariadne walks over to Eames’ desk. “Do you plan on telling me what’s up your ass today, or are you just going to keep yelling about cowboys?”

              Eames tosses his pen down and looks at Ariadne. “You’re very perceptive; why don’t you take a guess?”

              Ariadne doesn’t hesitate. “Arthur.”

              “I should’ve gotten in that damn cab with him.”

              “So then what the hell are you still doing here?” Ariadne asks, smiling.

              “Because I don’t think he’d very much appreciate my company.”

              “This is getting ridiculous,” Ariadne says. “We’re not in middle school, Eames. Grow some balls and call him, or let him be. Don’t hang around in the middle where you both seem to be living right now.”

              Ten minutes later, Eames is outside, dialing Arthur’s number.

              “Eames,” Arthur says, answering his phone.

              Eames immediately smiles, even though Arthur sounds even worse than when he left this morning. “How’re you feeling, darling?” Eames asks.

              “I think I’m dying,” Arthur answers bluntly.

              Eames chuckles. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

              Arthur coughs long and hard, always having to prove his point. “Eames, I know way more assassins than you do, so choose your words carefully.”

              This time, Eames full-out laughs. It seems that Arthur is much more lucid than before. “Do you need me to bring you something to eat?” he offers. 

              Arthur clears his throat. “Ariadne is coming over later, so I don’t think so, but thank you.”

              The two talk for only a few more minutes before Eames can hear Arthur getting tired. He walks back into the warehouse whistling cheesy country love songs.

+

              Arthur is curled up in the middle of the bed in his hotel room with every blanket he could find piled on top of him. He’s sure that he’s never felt more awful in his entire life. But at least he got to talk to Eames before his body betrayed him and forced sleep upon him again.

              There’s a knock at his hotel door.

              "It’s open,” he calls weakly from bed. Arthur intentionally propped his door open so that he didn’t have to get out of bed when Ariadne came.

              Arthur hears the door open and close tightly before seeing Ariadne’s face peering down at him from the side of the bed.

              “What would you have done if I was a murderer?” she asks.

              Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls out the gun he was snuggling like a stuffed animal from underneath all the blankets, pointing it at Ariadne.

              Ariadne snorts, taking the gun from him. “Yes, Arthur, you look absolutely terrifying in your pajamas all snuggled up under those blankets.”

              Arthur sneezes. “I don’t have to look terrifying; I just have to have good aim,” he points out, sitting up.

              Ariadne sets a bag on the bed and starts pulling out containers. “I got you chicken noodle, tomato, and broccoli cheddar. I didn’t know which one you wanted.”

              Arthur scrunches his nose. “Broccoli cheddar? I’m not a monster.”

              She shrugs. “It’s Eames’ favorite.”

              “That explains a lot.” Arthur reaches for the chicken noodle soup. “Thanks for coming by.”

              “Of course. So Eames called you?”

               Arthur carefully takes a bite of soup. “He did. Why is that any interest of yours?”

               “Because he came back into the warehouse noticeably happier after ‘taking a break’ outside. I figured that was your doing.”

               It’s interesting that Eames needed cheering up in the first place. Arthur had never seen him in any other mood other than annoyingly happy. Eames had seemed perfectly fine this morning during Arthur’s brief moments at the warehouse.

              “He was in a bad mood before?” he questions.

              “He wouldn’t stop yelling at Neil about his country music.”

              Arthur smiles. “Good. Country music sucks.”

              Ariadne groans. “That’s so not the point. God, you two are some of the dumbest smart people I know.”

              Later, after Ariadne has left, Arthur’s head is pounding and he’s wide awake. The darkness should be helping, but it’s only making everything worse. He needs sleep because he needs to be back at work tomorrow; he’s already missed too much, but thinking about needing to sleep isn’t helping him fall asleep any quicker.

              He tries letting his thoughts wander, but they always end up at Eames. Eames, Eames, Eames. Eames’ hair, Eames’ smile, Eames’ laugh, Eames’ god-awful wardrobe. When the fuck will it end? Arthur prays to every god he can think of to send him into the sweet release of sleep, but when he thinks of gods, he thinks of Eames. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

              Even Arthur’s stubbornness has its end. He eventually falls asleep, surrendering to his sickness. Whether that sickness is the flu or love, Arthur can’t be sure.

 

  1. Birmingham



              The job in Birmingham gets blown up before it can even begin. At the end of the carnage, the architect who betrayed them has escaped from the warehouse unscathed. Their extractor is lying dead in a pool of blood, and Arthur is selfishly thankful that Cobb turned this job down. Eames is left with a bullet in his arm, a bullet that was meant for Arthur.

              “You fucking idiot,” Arthur hisses, wrapping a piece of cloth around Eames’ wound. “You could’ve died.”

              Eames grimaces. “ _You_ could’ve died.”

              Arthur pauses and spends a moment glaring at Eames. “Stop talking. If any more stupid nonsense comes out of your mouth, I’ll let you bleed out.”

              How else is Arthur supposed to react after Eames shielded him from their batshit crazy architect, literally taking a bullet for him? What the fuck is he supposed to say? Thank you? I love you? Arthur’s been in situations like this before, situations where someone has betrayed him. But having someone sacrifice their life for him? Never.

              Arthur feels his usually controlled emotions start to boil.

              “Arthur, stop fussing.”

              Arthur scoffs, backing away from Eames. “Stop fussing? Eames, fucking look at what happened here!”

              Eames shakily gets up from the floor and balances himself against a desk corner. Arthur moves closer to steady him.

              Eames grabs onto Arthur’s tie, tugging on it a little so Arthur will look at him. “Darling, breathe and listen to me. Misha didn’t finish the job, right? We’re still alive, and that means we need to get out of here now. Drop me off at the hospital and then take care of her.”

              Arthur can’t focus on how close he is to Eames right now. God, he wishes he could, but Eames is right. Whoever Misha is working for will realize quickly that Eames and Arthur are still alive. They’ll be like sitting ducks if they stay in the warehouse much longer.

              Arthur breathes and finally comes to his senses. “No. You’re not going to a hospital. I’ll call Yusuf to come up from London, but I’m not leaving you alone in a hospital.” Arthur closes his eyes. “I won’t do it.”

              “Okay, okay,” Eames soothes, and it’s comforting to Arthur but also a little infuriating because he should be the one comforting Eames. After all, he has just been shot. “Call Yusuf, but let’s go, yeah?”

              Arthur nods and leads Eames out of the warehouse, already planning many bloody deaths in his head.

+

              “Alright, you’re all good,” Yusuf says, taking off his gloves and tossing them in the trash next to him.

              Arthur had dropped Eames off at their hotel and waited with him until Yusuf arrived, leaving with strict orders to Yusuf not to leave until he returned.

              “Thanks, mate,” Eames says, rolling his sleeve back down.

              “Now, do you want to tell me what happened? Arthur ran out of here quickly.”

              Eames sighs, leaning his back against the headboard of the bed. “We were done over. Misha. She pulled a gun on Arthur, and I stepped in front and took the hit. She killed Graham and then ran out.”

              Yusuf just stares at Eames. “Coward. That’s where Arthur went, then? To take care of things?”

              Eames let his eyes close. “Mmm. Never seen him like this before. He just about lost it in the warehouse.”

              Eames hears Yusuf chuckle. “Well, with your life hanging in the balance, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

              His eyes shoot open. “It’s just a flesh wound, Yusuf,” he reasons, more with himself than with Yusuf. “My life was not ‘hanging’ anywhere.”

              “I don’t think that mattered much to Arthur, did it? I bet whoever he’s going after dies a horrible death.”

              Three hours later, Eames gets a text from Arthur.

              _It’s done._  

+

              Arthur hates the dark. First of all, he can’t fucking see anything in the dark, and Arthur hates anything that puts him at a disadvantage. Second of all, and more importantly, Arthur gets lonely in the dark of night, something he’s not quick to admit. He thinks it would put him at a disadvantage, which brings him right back to point one.

              Arthur stares at the details on the ceiling of his hotel room that he can’t see and feels his frustration growing. His mind replays the events of the day, a day that ended much bloodier than he would’ve liked.

              He thinks about Eames (what’s new) and how his voice had brought him back down to earth in the warehouse. Arthur’s never lost control of himself like that before. It’s terrifying.

              There’s a knock on his door and Arthur tenses. He grabs his gun out of the nightstand drawer and gets out of bed. On his way to the door, he stubs his toe on a leg of the desk he forgot was there. He squeezes his eyes shut and grimaces. Arthur hates the dark.

              He starts hopping on his right leg to the door and mutters, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” under his breath the whole way.

              When he looks through the peephole and sees Eames, he utters one last “fuck” before opening the door.

              “Hello, Arthur.” Eames furrows his eyebrows. “Why are you standing like that?”

              “I, uh, stubbed my toe,” Arthur responds.

              Eames hesitates. “Well, I thought you’d like some company. I wasn’t able to give you a proper thank you for taking care of me in the warehouse, but I must’ve woken you up, darling, I’m sorry.”

              What the fuck does Eames need to thank Arthur for?

              “I feel like I should be the one thanking you,” Arthur admits.

               Eames smiles. “No need. I’ll, um, let you sleep. See you in the morning?”

              Arthur wants to bridge the gap between them and pull Eames into his room. He wants to kiss him everywhere. He wants to take his time with Eames. He wants to lose himself in Eames and get the images of bloodied, dead bodies out of his mind.

              Does he do any of this?

              Of course not.  

              The next day, when Eames notices Arthur’s grumpiness, Arthur blames it on the uncomfortable bed.

 

  1. Lisbon



              “For the millionth time, Eames,” Cobb starts, resting his head down on his desk, “I’m not in the Illuminati.”

              Arthur chuckles softly from his spot at the large whiteboard they’ve pinned up on the wall. Overhearing Eames demanding to know whether or not Cobb is in the Illuminati has certainly been the highlight of his day.

              “Right, well no one who’s not in the Illuminati would buy their children a pet lizard. Pippa’s birthday is coming up, yeah? I’ll do her a favor: I’ll kill the lizard and replace it with a puppy.”

              Arthur decides the torture has gone on too long. “Hey, Eames,” he calls out. “Come here; let me know what you think of this.”

              In truth, Arthur has nothing that Eames needs to take a look at, but he figures Cobb could use a break from Eames’ antics for a bit. He also needs an excuse to confront Eames about something.

              Arthur continues writing on the board as Eames walks up to him. “What can I do for you, dear Arthur?”

              Arthur clears his throat, finally stopping to look at Eames. “You’re right-handed.”

              Eames furrows his eyebrows. “Yes?”

              “You’re right-handed, but you’re favoring your left hand.”

              “Can’t say I know where you’re going with this.”

              “Your arm isn’t healing well, is it?”

              Eames sighs. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. It’s fine, Arthur, just taking a bit longer than expected.”

              “Do you want me to take a look at it?” Arthur offers, knowing full-well that Eames can take care of himself.

              Eames looks genuinely surprised. “Do _you_ want to take a look at it?”

              Arthur shrugs. “Might as well.”

              Arthur thinks it’s pretty safe to say that both of them know this is just an excuse for Arthur to get Eames shirtless. Eames’ flirting has only increased since their job in Birmingham, and Arthur can’t say he’s mad about it. He figures he might as well give some back.

              Arthur has completely given up on fighting his feelings anymore; it’s exhausting. He’s now just waiting for the pin to drop when they give up the chase and fall into each other.

+

              Eames is well aware that this is just a ploy to get him shirtless, but he’s more than happy to oblige. This little game he and Arthur are playing is fun, sure, but sooner or later, it will blow up in their faces. The outcome… Well, Eames isn’t a fortune reader, but if he and Arthur in the back room of the warehouse is any indication, Eames thinks it’ll be favorable.

              “Alright, take your shirt off,” Arthur says.

              Eames smiles at how nervous Arthur seems, off his guard. “I have to say, in all my fantasies, you’re never this forward.”

              “I’m in your fantasies?” Arthur asks incredulously.

              Eames begins to unbutton his shirt. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You are my fantasies.”

              Arthur looks like he’s trying to figure out whether Eames is joking or not. Eames isn’t. Not by a long shot, but it’s fun to watch Arthur overthink.

              Eames sits down in a chair and lets Arthur unwrap his bandages, noticing how his eyes wander every so often. The amount of tension in the air is disgusting, and Eames scolds himself for getting worked up over someone checking over his gunshot wound.

              Arthur’s fingers lightly brush over Eames’ bicep, nearing the wound but not directly touching it. “At least it’s not infected.”

              Eames chuckles. “Yeah, you didn’t need to get me shirtless to tell me that.”

              Arthur clears his throat. “I just worry about you, you know?”

              No Eames doesn’t know.

              Caught off guard, Eames doesn’t say anything until Arthur has finished rewrapping his injured arm and is already turning to walk away.

             “Arthur,” Eames says softly. He waits until Arthur has his eyes on him. “Really and truly I’m alright.”

              Arthur smiles. “Let’s finish this job, then we’ll talk. Cobb will be back soon.”

              Eames is slowly getting used to the fact that Arthur reveals parts of himself in small bursts when he’s ready to reveal them, and not a second sooner. To be allowed into that is a privilege to Eames, one he doesn’t take lightly. Slowly but surely, Eames wants to learn everything there is to know about Arthur, however long that takes.

+

              This time, when Eames comes to Arthur’s hotel room, Arthur lets him in. Eames immediately goes over to Arthur’s bed and flops down on it, sighing loudly.

              “I don’t know about you, but these jobs are getting more and more draining.”

              “Yeah,” Arthur agrees, sitting down in a chair next to the bed.

              Arthur looks over at Eames who has his eyes closed. He looks so calm and at peace, and Arthur wants to know how Eames is like that all the time. He wants to know every little detail about this man that he trusts so much.

              Fuck it.

              “Eames?”

              “Hmm?”

              At once, Arthur stands, gets on the bed, and straddles Eames, whose eyes are now very open.

              “I’m sick of this.”

              Eames’ hands rest on Arthur’s hips, lightly rubbing circles into them with his thumbs as if he’s been doing it for years.

              “Sick of what, love?” Eames asks.

              “I’m sick of the back and forth between us, this game we’re playing.”

              “Arthur,” Eames breathes, and Arthur thinks he’s never heard a better sound. “You have to know.”

              Arthur leans forward, face close to Eames’. “Say it. Please. I need you to say it.”

              One of Eames’ hands comes up to cup the back of Arthur’s neck and pulls him down to meet his lips. Arthur is fucking done for. As Arthur’s hands cup Eames’ face, he’s certain he’s never felt anything like this before and never wants to feel anything other than this from here on out.

              Eames pulls back slightly. “I’m all about you, darling.”

              Arthur lets his forehead fall down to Eames’. “Thank fuck. God, I love you.”

              Arthur rolls off of Eames, even though he wants to never stop kissing him. The two lay side by side in happy silence.

              “Will you stay with me tonight?” Arthur asks.

              Arthur can almost feel Eames smile beside him. “Thought you’d never ask. My sleep has been shit lately.”

              Arthur looks over at Eames. “Yeah? Since when?”

              “Dunno. Probably since Jakarta.”

              Arthur laughs, his first genuine laugh in a long time, and reaches over to grab Eames’ hand, feeling confident he’ll sleep damn well tonight. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any and all feedback is much appreciated! And go read The Song of Achilles if you haven't yet; it's a masterpiece.


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